In about half an hour the sound of the returning enemy was again heard. Smote by the same fierce fire, Drummond with a desperate effort threw his entire strength on the centre of the American line. But there stood the gallant twenty-first, whose resistless charge had first swept the hill; and where they had conquered they could not yield. Scott in the mean time led his column so as to take the enemy in flank and rear, and but for a sudden volley from a concealed body of the enemy, cutting his command in two, would have finished the battle with a blow. As it was, he charged again and again, with resistless energy, and the disordered ranks of the British for the second time rolled back and were lost in the gloom. Here Scott's last horse fell under him, and he moved on foot amid his battalion. Jessup was also severely wounded, yet there he stood amid the darkness and carnage, cheering on his men. The soldiers vied with the officers in heroic daring and patient suffering. Many would call out for muskets as they had none, or for cartridges as theirs were all gone. On every side from pallid lips and prostrate bleeding forms came the reply, "take mine, and mine, my gun is in good order, and my cartridge box is full." There was scarcely an officer at this time unwounded; yet, one and all refused to yield the command while they could keep their feet.
Jessup's flag was riddled with balls, and as a sergeant waved it amid a storm of bullets, the staff was severed in three places in his hand. Turning to his commander he exclaimed as he took up the fragments, "Look, colonel, how they have cut us." The next moment a ball passed through his body. But he still kept his feet, and still waved his mutilated standard, until faint with loss of blood he sunk on the field.
After being driven the second time down the hill, the enemy for a while ceased their efforts, and sudden silence fell on the two armies, broken only by the groans of the wounded and dying. The scene, and the hour, combined to render that hill-top a strange and fearful object in the darkness. On one side lay a wilderness, on the other rolled the cataract, whose solemn anthem could again be heard pealing on through the night. Leaning on their heated guns, that gallant band stood bleeding amid the wreck it had made. It was midnight—the stars looked quietly down from the sky—the summer wind swept softly by, and nature was breathing long and peacefully. But all over that hill lay the brave dead, and adown its sides in every direction the blood of men was rippling. Nothing but skeletons of regiments remained, yet calm and stern were the words spoken there in the darkness. "Close up the ranks," were the heroic orders that still fell on the shattered battalions, and they closed with the same firm presence and dauntless hearts as before.
It was thought that the British would make no further attempts to recover their guns, but reinforcements having arrived from Fort George, they, after an hour's repose and refreshment, prepared for a final assault. Our troops had all this time stood to their arms, and faint with hunger, thirst, and fatigue, seemed unequal to a third conflict against a fresh force. But as they heard the enemy advancing, they forgot their weariness and met the onset firmly as before. But this time the ranks of the enemy did not yield under the fire that smote them—they pressed steadily forward, and delivering their volleys as they advanced, at length stood on the summit of the hill, and breast to breast with the American line. The conflict now became fearful and more like the murderous hand-to-hand fights of old than a modern battle. Battalions on both sides were forced back till the ranks became mingled. Bayonet crossed bayonet and men lay transfixed side by side. Hindman, whose artillery had been from the first served with surpassing skill, found the enemy amid his guns, across which he was compelled to fight them.
The firing gave way to the clash of steel, the blazing hill-top subsided into gloom, out of which the sound of this nocturnal combat arose in strange and wild confusion.
Scott, charging like fire at the head of his exhausted battalion, received another severe wound which prostrated him—but his last words to Leavenworth were, "Charge again!" "Charge again, Leavenworth!" he cried, as they bore him, apparently dying, from that fierce foughten field. General Brown, supported on his horse, and suffering from a severe wound, was slowly led away. Jesup was bleeding from several wounds; every regimental officer in Scott's brigade was killed or wounded. Only one soldier out of every four stood up unhurt. The annals of war rarely reveal such a slaughter in a single brigade, but it is rarer still a brigade has such a leader. The ghosts of regiments alone remained, yet before these the veterans of England were at last compelled to flee, and betake themselves to the darkness for safety. Sullen, mortified, and badly wounded, Drummond was carried from the field, and all farther attempts to take the hill were abandoned. The Americans, however, kept watch and ward, around the cannon that had cost them so great a sacrifice, till near daybreak, when orders were received to retire to camp. No water could be obtained on the heights, and the troops wanted repose. Through the want of drag-ropes and horses, the cannon were left behind. This was a sad drawback to the victory, and Major Ripley should have detailed some men to have taken at least the lightest ones away. Trophies won with the blood of so many brave men were worth more effort than he put forth to secure them.
A bloodier battle, in proportion to the numbers engaged, was never fought than this. Nearly eight hundred Americans, and as many English, had fallen on and around that single hill. It was literally loaded with the slain. Seventy-six officers were either killed or wounded out of our army of some three thousand men, and not a general on either side remained unwounded.
Among the slain was young Captain Hull, son of the General who had so shamefully capitulated at Detroit. This young officer, who had fought one duel in defence of his father's honor, and struggled in vain to shake off the sense of disgrace that clung to him, told a friend at the opening of the battle, that he had resolved to fling away a life which had become insupportable. When the conflict was done, he was found stark and stiff where the dead lay thickest.
It would be impossible to relate all the deeds of daring and gallantry which distinguished this bloody engagement. Almost every man was a hero, and from that hour England felt a respect for our arms she had never before entertained. The navy had established its reputation forever, and now the army challenged the respect of the world. The timorous and the ignorant had been swept away with the old martinets, and the true genius of the country was shining forth in her young men, who, while they did not despise the past, took lessons of the present. Scott at this time, but twenty-eight years of age, had shown to the country what a single youth, fired with patriotism, confident in his resources, and daring in spirit, could accomplish. His brigade, it is true, had been almost annihilated, and nothing apparently been gained; but those err much who graduate the results of a battle by the number taken prisoners or the territory acquired. Moral power is always more valuable than physical, and though we are forever demanding something tangible to show as the reward of such a great effort and sacrifice, yet to gain a national position is more important than to take an army. Thus while many think that the battle of Niagara, though gallantly fought, was a barren one, and furnished no compensation for the great slaughter that characterized it, yet there has been none since that of Bunker Hill, more important to this country, and which, directly and indirectly, has more affected its interests. It probably saved more battles than if, by stratagem or superior force, General Brown had succeeded in capturing Drummond's entire army.
Brown and Scott both being disabled, the command devolved on Major Ripley, who retired behind the Chippewa, and the defences recently erected by the British. Scott's last wound was a severe one. A musket ball had shattered his shoulder dreadfully, and for a long time it was extremely doubtful whether he ever recovered. He suffered excruciating pain from it, and it was September before he ventured to travel, and then slowly and with great care. His progress was a constant ovation. The young and wounded chieftain was hailed on his passage with salvos of artillery, and shouts of freemen. He arrived at Princeton on commencement day of Nassau Hall. The professors immediately sent a delegation requesting his attendance at the church. Leaning on the arm of his gallant aid-de-camp, Worth—his arm in a sling, and his countenance haggard and worn from his long suffering and confinement, the tall young warrior slowly moved up the aisle, and with great difficulty ascended the steps to the stage. At first sight of the invalid, looking so unlike the dashing, fearless commander, a murmur of sympathy ran through the house, the next moment there went up a shout that shook the building to its foundations.